


Four White Nights

by euphoriaontoast



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Growing Up, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Anguish, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-10-03 18:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20457374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphoriaontoast/pseuds/euphoriaontoast
Summary: A set of four pieces small enough to fit in your coat pocket. Handle with care.





	1. The Beginning

Some days, in the early hours of the morning, when dark blue turned to white and there was enough clouds to keep the sun away just a little longer, even his golden skin, even his white hair, everything looked purple.

He was the target now. The boys living on the streets of Vesuvia talked about him in hushed tones, said that he used magic, that he had a weird deck of cards and could see the past and the future. Seemingly always alone, he gathered useless objects he found in the trash, things like broken compasses and mirrors and strange-looking stones. Muriel thought maybe the boy had a thing for finding things that couldn't be found, and wondered, and then thought about him some more. He'd catch himself off guard sometimes, reprimand himself for leaving his thoughts unattended, pictures and question marks leaping all over the place right before his eyes.

The boy had bluntly refused the gang's offer to join them, angering more than one dirty-haired rascal in the process. Never in his life had Muriel witnessed someone stand against the gang's commands, nevermind laugh in their faces and get away with it. But the boy was fast. Faster in fact than was physically possible, even for someone so small and agile. It was almost comical how he dashed past as the street kids grappled for him, his giggles echoing long after he disappeared within the crowd, only to reappear somewhere else, purple eyes glowing with mischief, locking with his own green ones, winking, a little game. 

Muriel knew there was something about the boy that made him stand out from the rest of orphans like himself, even though he couldn't quite see it. Maybe the very fact he couldn't see it was what made him so special. Something more about him, or maybe something less; a lack of inhibition or fear that made his steps lighter, his eyes brighter. Muriel wished he knew what that felt like, he who concealed his face beneath a cloak and never gave away his name. He didn't know how the boy did it, how he could be so carefree. But he felt there was a double edge to this way of living; the boy could hit and run, but he wouldn't run forever. Muriel, he knew how to stay put.

His suspicions proved right one night when he heard the commotion the gang was causing by the docks. The moon was almost full in the cloudless sky, reflecting on the water and lighting up their faces. As he most often did, Muriel watched from the sidelines, far from everyone as their voices raised in a hubbub, filling up the otherwise quiet night.

''Grab his arms, don't let him go!" He recognized the voice as one of the kids who'd often try to bribe him into joining the crew with fish and eel.

''His hands!"

''Hold him down!"

''Don't let him use his powers!" 

Muriel closed his eyes in an attempt to block it out but he heard it anyway, the rustling as they all pinned him to the ground, the whimper of distress, the sharp intake of breath, the silence before the blow, the scream. Tension built up inside him, pulling him to his feet as if on reflex, and he let his green cloak fall behind as he made his way to them. 

He didn't know what he was thinking, but then he probably wasn't. If he thought at all he wouldn't try to interfere with the gang's business. It had nothing to do with him. But then in his mind there was a faint ringing, like chimes, something he'd heard before, or would hear someday. He didn't know where it came from but it was a sound that felt like coming home. He had a vision of purple orbs looking straight into his own, guiding each one of his steps, and all he could do was follow.

He grabbed the kid by the wrist before he could land another blow on the boy.

''What? Let g-" The rest of his sentence was lost as he laid eyes on Muriel. The quiet rage consuming the young giant was enough to make the rascal weak as he got yanked away like a weed and thrown in the opposite direction. 

He landed on his knees with a thud, a few feet from the scene. The others watched dumbstruck as their friend recovered, anger deforming his feature into an ugly toothless grimace. He stood to his feet and glared daggers in the direction of Muriel who right then could only think, 'No one should have to look at someone like that.' And he hated what was about to happen, what he was about to do. He felt uneasy as all eyes bored into his flesh, into his face, like sharp needles. He wished it was already over so he could fade into his cloak again and disappear. But the white-haired boy was still pinned to the ground, unmoving as he gazed at his towering form along with everyone else. It was only the beginning.

''You think you'll get away with this? Think you can get away with anything 'cause you're built like a mountain?'' The boy spoke calmly, the only thing betraying his façade being the rasp in his tone, and a devilish grin that showed all his teeth, present and missing. "You could break anything you touch with those massive hands, and why don't you? It's really all they'll ever be useful for.'' 

''Count Lucio should have him locked up in the dungeons...''

Shyly at first the boys raised against him, their voices mingling and rising until they formed but one hateful shout into the night.

''His place is in the coliseum."

''Imagine what he'll look like as a man!''

''A monster!"

''Someone should rid the city of him...''

''...nothing but a nuisance."

''An abomination."

As their voices grew louder, closer each second, Muriel closed his eyes. 

The first hit came from behind, hard and fast, directed at his head. Then it came from the side, to his jaw. Then just like the voices, it came from everywhere at once, punches thrown without aiming, some hitting with more than their bare fists, everyone gathering around in a frenzy to measure up, to bring him down. Muriel didn't know why, though. He'd never felt so small. With any luck they'd knock him unconscious and throw him into the sea, where he wouldn't have to speak for himself again, just disappear, drifting away forevermore.

But then it stopped abruptly, the words of rage turning into surprised yelps as the gang members dispersed at once.

''What- what is this?!" 

Muriel slowly opened his eyes, his vision hazy for a few seconds before it adjusted to the sudden brightness that lit up the pier and caused the gang to yell in terror and when he saw it, his eyes widened. Not in fear, but in awe. There was a moment during which he thought all the pain he felt made him see things that weren't there, things he wished he could see, or never thought he would see. Before him was the form of an animal, namely a fox of supernatural height, made entirely of white-blue light. Orbs like precious purple stones shone in their sockets with strange intelligence, mesmerizing. Then it stood on its rear legs, resembling a man, twice the size of one, and Muriel himself almost fainted.

After the initial shock, the first scream resounded in the ethereal silence that had risen in the wake of the creature, and the kids broke in a disorganized run, fleeing far from the docks and into the crowded city where no one would believe what they had witnessed. But Muriel didn't move. He kept watching the fox, the purple steam that rose from its eyes as it looked right back at him. It lowered itself back down onto its front legs without so much as a faint sound, mere inches from him, bowed its head down to his height, as if in thanks, before fading away in a gust of wind. 

For a moment Muriel was left in blinding darkness, as if someone had blown out a torch before his eyes. He blinked a few times before he could see again, and when he did the white-haired boy had taken the fox's place, a dimple showing in spite of a swelling bruise on his cheek as he beamed at him. But Muriel didn't know what he was up to, and cowered back to a safer distance. 

''You didn't fight them.'' The high-pitched voice bubbled with curiosity. Muriel, who had been about to leave, staggered a little. He wasn't sure what to say, so he didn't say anything. ''You could have fought them off, but you didn't.'' 

''Why would I?" He croaked.

''They said you were a monster,'' the little boy said, affecteing to show off sharp teeth and claws, which Muriel thought only made him look cute, mess of white hair, dimples and all. He could show him what a monster was really like. Not that he would.

''I don't want to be a monster,'' Muriel said. ''I'm going to go.'' 

''Where?" 

''Away.'' 

''Away where?" For someone who was so good at running from trouble, the boy proved surprisingly clingy.

''Where I won't bother anyone.'' 

''You don't bother me.''

The boy stood in his way. And though he wasn't much of an obstacle for Muriel, the bigger boy came to a halt in front of him. Muriel couldn't tell what the look in his eyes meant. He'd never seen determination so fierce in someone's eyes, not when they conveyed so much vulnerability at the same time. It was a trusting look, almost like a plea, and Muriel couldn't hold it. He looked the other way. 

''Who are you?" He asked the little one.

''I'm Asra.'' The boy gave him a wide smile, but then winced as his cheek throbbed with pain where he'd received the punch. His fingers disappeared inside his mouth, coming out a few seconds later with blood and spit and a tiny milk-white tooth. 

Muriel felt tears well up in his eyes, the sight making him fume with unprecedented rage. He wanted to unleash his wrath on the boy who did that, punch him senseless, destroy his face until not a tooth remained- 

''It'll grow back,'' Asra said, as if it meant no more to him than a stone he found lying on the beach. He put it away in his pocket. When he smiled again, it was a little less wide, a tiny hole in the place where the tooth should have been.

Muriel's jaw tightened, but he nodded. He didn't know what to do with himself, so he stayed there, feeling big and inadequate, looking anywhere but at Asra, though he felt his eyes on him the whole time. 

''What was that- that thing you did earlier?" He finally asked.

''What thing?"

''The fox...''

''Oh.'' As if he'd forgotten. ''That was the magician.''

''How did you do it?"

''I didn't do anything. They came to defend us.'' 

''What do you mean? Why didn't it come before you were hurt?"

''I don't know. They're strange. I don't always understand what they mean right away,'' he said. ''But you were there for me. I'll never forget it.''

Muriel's face grew hot in the span of a second. He was more used to hearing honesty in the form of insults than gratitude, which might have been why was driven by instinct to find the praise obscene. It ignited a burning ache in his chest, though it was different from the kind he always felt. It wasn't meant to harm him, it rather just... warmed him up. Muriel had to remind himself, as an afterthought, that Asra was special, not like the other kids. Not like anyone he'd ever met in his life. He hoped the kid wouldn't hear the echo of his own words in Muriel's head, or notice the deep crimson that tainted his cheeks, but the little one wasn't fooled. 

''I see it!" He teased him in a sing-song voice, laughter erupting like waves from his tiny face, turning Muriel an even deeper shade of color. Asra shook his head at him, still giggling, silly boy, before he started walking in the opposite direction.

Muriel watched his small frame become even smaller as he went off into the night, taking away the warmth he'd brought with him and for the first time in a long time, Muriel didn't want to be left alone. But then Asra turned around, expectant eyes as big and round as teacups.

''Are you coming, Muriel?" 

Was he? In spite of him the small flame was revived, and he found his feet moving forward, almost of their own accord. 

''How do you know my name?" He asked.

''I just know.'' Asra smiled. ''I've known for a while.''

And then Muriel's heart was ablaze.


	2. The Rise

Do you know the courage it takes to speak?

  
The words rang round and round, circles in the silence, spoken by the one who knows. The implication seemed clear enough, but Asra narrowed his eyes. The Magician knew, always, but never told. 

  
There must have been a catch. He could feel the words held pain, invisible but unmistakably present, a fear that would crawl up his fingertips from every letter no sooner had he brushed the surface of their meaning, settling into him at a depth he couldn't reach nor even dare approach, locked away from everything he thought easy and granted.

  
The courage it takes to speak, Asra never had to think about it. He had words swimming inside him like ornamental fish in a pool, and when he gazed into someone's eyes, they knew to swim to the surface, dance in a synchrony of dazzling colors and bring them close enough to the edge they might fall in if they're not careful, so close in fact they might just dive in any moment now. That was Asra, how he made a living, pinning dreams into words and selling wishes to come true. He didn't shy away from words, even the ones that made him sound vulnerable, the ones that took people by surprise, made them cower back and blush and gasp while he stood his ground, wit gleaming in his magician's eyes who was already scheming his next trick. 

  
But even when all his cards lay face up on the table and he didn't seem to have a thing left to hide, the boy rarely gave away anything of himself, and if he spoke as though he didn't have anything to lose it was probably just the case. He had all his curious artifices hidden deep down for the adventurous to fetch while the truth remained in plain sight, unbothered to be hidden, because no one believed the magician capable of honesty, of telling his truth, if he had one, if he wasn't just a rigged game of hide-and-seek in a hedge maze.

  
It didn't bother him so much to be inscrutable. It made him just like Muriel, in a way. At least that's what Asra wanted to believe; that in their own different ways, they were exactly the same.

  
Muriel was too shy to speak. He didn't toy with expressions or venture too close to their meanings, let alone play at nuancing tones and intentions. He kept the words trapped inside him, and the longer they remained in the dark, the scarcer and fewer they came out. He didn't always know which to fish at the right time and even though he was careful, maybe because he was so careful, more often than not he didn't find the right ones, or found them idiotic, or too personal to be spoken aloud, in which case he'd hide them even further and look away for fear someone would get a glimpse of their reflection inside his eyes. That was Muriel, a part of him was given with every word he spoke. 

  
Asra almost always caught his gaze just as he turned away to conceal it. It was like a gift stolen, the louder heartbeat that followed, close enough to get him every single time. It stole a smile right back from him, one that he couldn't bite his lips to hide for the life of him. He stored these memories away and on occasion opened the lid on them, let them come out and consume the soft spots in his heart, the parts no one came close to seeing, ones he hardly knew himself but whose mere existence warmed his chest and his cheeks whenever he let the pictures drift before his eyes. He held onto them, no lies, no artifices, just his own naked feelings while he allowed them to overwhelm him.

  
It felt good, at first. It was the first time his heart was a treasure chest full of prospects and wishful thinking that made his young mind swirl with unprecedented thoughts and lose itself to know that the real treasure wasn't inside, but outside of it. That is, slightly older, much taller, with a head down to earth and shoulders already the size of Asra's fantasies. 

  
''You look lost,'' the fantasy said—very much real—and when Asra smiled and shook his head, and saw in Muriel's eyes that he didn't believe him, it dawned on him like lightening that he was having trouble putting the lid back on, that fear had already crept its way inside him, knocked the words out of his lungs and that—a pity, to think about it—he didn't have the courage to speak.

  
He could almost hear the Magician's animalistic laughter mocking him from the very deck of cards in his pocket. The wretched fox had known all along. Of course he had. And how had Asra failed to notice?

  
He then began traveling around, seeing for himself that he was effortlessly good at leaving things behind, nourishing the part of him that believed ever since his parents left that he knew what it took to live without a home. So when he was lost, when he didn't like where he stood, he reminded himself that he was everywhere at once, that one place was worth another, that all he had to do was close his eyes to summon elsewhere to wherever he was, a realm among others. 

  
Asra loved the prospect of adventure and sailing to distant lands. It was exciting, after all. But it was also a relief. Because another day anywhere near Muriel's sight and he would have burst out of his own grip, flitting between his fingers words he would rather bite his tongue than say aloud. And even though he was the one in pain, it was unthinkable to him that out of sheer bitterness and frustration he might be able to hurt his friend.

  
So he left.

  
He chased the exhilarating smells and sounds of far away cities, saw skies and skins and eyes of every color and then some much less common. Young as he was and growing into beautiful features, he took the time to love his reflection in the unusual irises, crystal balls swirling with emotions and thoughts in foreign, familiar symbols, dared them to make him feel what he knew they couldn't. Wrong look, wrong word, Muriel would have never done that. It was as if all he ever really desired in them was the signal to depart, to assure him that he knew he'd been right all along. And in the end all they really had to do was blink before he was gone, leaving the crystal balls wet and confused, wondering whether the genie that had once haunted them might have only been a dream.

  
He could have stuck to any place, anyone. But whether he tried to see it, dodge it, not see it, the truth was that no one came close to filling the space inside him where Muriel fit effortlessly. And no matter how far he went, what he saw or heard, the slightest twinge of hesitation had him springing right back to Vesuvia, where he ran breathless through the forest and as he approached the hut, all but kicking the door down, relieved to find his friend by the fire he would spill a fountain of magical treasures at his feet, which the bigger boy would marvel at with a soft smile. And when Asra saw the trinkets shining in his earthy greens, he knew he'd be leaving again soon. It tore his heart apart every single time, because he hadn't even left yet, and already he couldn't wait to come back.

  
He wanted to stay by, in old crumbling Vesuvia, even if he didn't like it that much, even if life was hard and he'd seen greener pastures. He wanted to be made to stay, wanted arms around him to hold him so tight he'd never even think of leaving again. He wanted Muriel. So badly in fact he was afraid he'd never find a way to make himself believe that he deserved him. It felt selfish. Because Muriel reminded Asra of the woods, and the white haired teenager sometimes wondered if that was the reason he was so reliable, rooted, the kindest, wondered if by any chance he himself might have had anything to do with it. He felt selfish to love the differences between them that Muriel tried to ignore, how he had to crane his neck to see him, that his eyes were the color of treetops looking toward the sky, his jutting top lip he once brushed his thumb over in a dream. 

  
In Asra's heart Muriel was vast forests where he got lost, raging storms that shook the trees, the darkness of moonless nights. But he was also the breeze, and flowers blooming on white mornings. Asra felt all of it with burning passion. And if he didn't know better, he'd be surprised Muriel hadn't already noticed it. But of course he wouldn't. Muriel was about all those things, but not about proximity, or affectionate feelings, or Asra.

  
The thought made his lips stretch into a sorry smile, right before the tremor filled his eyes with tears. 

  
Asra needed to see the Magician, but the entity within the card felt withdrawn, absent. He tried to feel for them, trick the words out of them, plead, to no avail. Asra was growing tired of the game, of the drudgery of hide-and-seek when he needed them the most. He didn't want to play anymore, was never playing in the first place and as a last resort decided to find them in their own realm, fight them in the endless blue night for answers if he needed to. Not that he really intended to, but Asra was sad, and if he didn't have it in him to fight the Magician, he'd end up begging them on his knees, and he wasn't yet ready to admit he would.

  
''Will you watch over me?'' he asked Muriel. ''I may be gone for a while.''

  
Muriel didn't answer, just sent him an obvious look, adorning the smallest of smiles which at once said, 'When are you ever not?' and, 'When do I ever not?'

  
That night Asra's energy was rough and impatient, flowing too fast, too light, as if it had a mind of its own made tenacious by his feelings, which underneath the full moon were almost stronger than he could bear. He closed his eyes, willing the magic to overtake his sense of reality but even then, the Magician's realm remained stubbornly out of reach. He knew somehow that his presence would be unwelcome, but not so much as to be completely locked out. He ignored his intuition telling him something was wrong, that the directions would be falsed, that his fear to reach out was interfering. He needed to get to the bottom of himself, seek answers from his patron arcana, who wouldn't give him any, but at best guide him to the place they lurked, at worst confuse his mind even further. He willed his spirit to follow the flow either way, mostly blind and finally, he dipped.

  
He realized something was amiss before he even reached the surface of the water. The sea was dark and agitated, not mentioning that he wasn't at all in the Magician's realm. He thought for a moment that he'd lost his way and ended up in the star's realm, then in the distance he saw the Tower, and knew his troubles were far from being over.

  
For days on end he just lay there on the landing, flipping tarot cards but not making sense of them, blinking the salt from his eyes as the waves crashed against the rocks and retreated, lulling the bursts of sadness that hit his heart with the same terrible sound. He remained there for weeks, unable to get out, not that he tried to find a way; the will had simply left him. He knew there would come a time when the Tower crumbled, taking his mortal frame down in the fall, and he'd be left with his questions and feelings unanswered. He was the picture of despair itself, as he shielded his head with his arms in a useless attempt at protection, because right before it all crashed down on him, all he wished was to speak to Muriel, if only one last time.

  
Before then his regrets could have killed him, but they were the only thing that saved Asra from the Tower's inevitable fate. 

  
His spirit was floating between realms, losing track of reality and all sense of time. At some point he heard the Magician's voice calling for him and his eyes, no more physical, opened to the blinding blue light of the fox with their fuming purple orbs, unpleased to meet him where he was. 

  
''You've wandered quite far from yourself, magician.'' The sound of their voice, although speaking through a patience wearing thin, reassured Asra. ''Where did you think you could go to escape your truth?''

  
Asra was ashamed to appear this weak; with no strength, no voice, reduced only to bitterness and empty anger, the ghost of what once would have been love. But wasn't that the reason he travelled realms, risked his life and lost it?

  
''I was looking for you all over,'' Asra spoke out of nowhere, his voice merely sounds gathering in the eternal silence, words that floated around as if he had once owned them and remained by his consciousness. ''You dismissed me.''

  
''I was not your safe bet to make,'' the fox said. ''You came looking answers, but the answers aren't hidden in the arcana's realms. They come from within your actions, and as I've seen it, you've been running as far off as you could from them, refusing to see the truth.''

  
''I want them,'' Asra spoke urgently, but too late. ''I want them now.''

  
''You need is to hurry back, young one.'' The Magician lowered their voice. ''Are you so reckless you want more answers than you can help yourself with?''

  
''I lost my chance,'' he said, his lingering uncertainty forming the question as his consciousness wavered, letters swallowed into the void.

  
''Go back.'' 

  
The words held authority that bordered on worry. The magician's fur, although no more than a smoke of light, looked as ruffled as if they were shuddering, frightened. And Asra was beginning to forget why. 'Go where?' he wanted to ask. Wasn't it too late? Hadn't the tower already fallen? Who was holding onto him, in the empty far away space between realms?

  
"The hermit is calling for you,'' the Magician said. ''Go back, or you'll never find the answers.''

  
The hermit. 

  
''Is he?'' The hope in Asra's voice sounded devastated. Part of him didn't want to go back, as if he'd rather not know, now that he'd come this far, bargained and suffered for more than he ever thought he could get.

  
The courage it takes to speak. The courage it takes to live. It was a vague echo, though it dominated everything. It shouted something to him that he felt he needed to know before he left for good. It was all encompassing, like an embrace. Chaos and grief from so far away enveloped him, asked him to come home, to come back, to wake up, and it lasted for all eternity, until Asra opened his eyes.

  
He found himself sitting up, the rocks and the waves all but a dream as his senses adjusted to the reality he came so close to losing forever. The first feeling that assailed him was disorientation, then the warmth of being in Muriel's arms, wrapped tightly around his shoulders as he rocked back and forth. It was the first time Muriel held him close to him, so close Asra could breathe in the scent of his hair, feel his sobs resonate close to his heart as he tightened his grip around him without fearing to break him. If he were able to, Asra would have held him just as tight, cried just as hard. But he lifted a hand to stroke the back of his head and it was all he could manage, he was so weak. Muriel gasped at the touch, almost dropping the frail body from his grip before lodging his head more comfortably on his shoulder, cradling the soft white hair. 

  
''Was I gone too long?" Asra croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper but he attempted to smile.

  
''You were gone,'' Muriel said. He didn't try to hide the tears falling down his cheeks, or the tremor in his lips, or even the look in his eyes that desperately wanted to believe what he was seeing. It put his Asra in a thousand states, and along with his tears the truth overflowed.

  
''Muriel, I love you.''

  
He heard the words come out of his mouth and recognized the answer he sought. The courage it takes to speak. It was as much as it took to bear the silence that followed, during which he closed his eyes and held his breath.

  
''Your lips are parched,'' Muriel said.

  
And they weren't the four words Asra waited to hear, but they were beyond anything he had ever dared to expect. It took him another heartbeat to realize how brave they were, coming from him, because his own heart was threatening to burst, but Muriel hadn't turned away. Asra watched him turn pink, softly, and still hold his gaze. 

  
He knew he would have held it forever if he had to, but Muriel brushed his fingers through his hair in the gentlest stroke and Asra's white eyelashes fluttered, the shiver hard to conceal. There was hesitation in Muriel's eyes but it was of the kind he had already conquered. Past the fear and past the doubts he bent down slightly, meeting Asra's lips in the middle where he dared give more affection than he thought he could, and received more than he believed himself worthy of. He pulled back slowly, giving Asra time to wallow in happiness, red cheeks and a dazed smile before the sight of him made him dip his head again, his heart taken.

  
''This is the last time you get in trouble for me,'' he warned.

  
''How did you know?'' Asra asked him. In his eyes the words swirled in purple pools of nostalgia, soft and bold, daring the man holding him to remember the boy he was.

  
''I just did.'' Muriel smiled. ''I've known for a while.''

  
Asra lit up and kissed him again, in love as though he just met him.


End file.
